


The Scrapyard

by organicluretrees



Category: Toontown Online
Genre: Cog Nation, Cog-centric, Dark, Gen, One-Shot, TT, Toontown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 18:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/organicluretrees/pseuds/organicluretrees
Summary: A quick look into a place where most cogs would want to forget it exists.





	The Scrapyard

Far from Sellbot HQ, there laid a long road that stretched from where the large factory was. It paved through the desolate wasteland of wilted grass with dark, gray clouds that reside above it. A bleak sight, much like the rest of Cog Nation. Smog covered the atmosphere from top to bottom, more so here where the clouds are much thicker outside of the HQ. The road was visible enough to see to where transportation could occur along the path.

From this graveled path, a rather big truck rode alone. Only with the sounds of the engine powering the vehicle could be heard with the wheels striding against the small rocks. The driver at the front was somewhat visible amongst this smog infested area.  Through the broken front window glass, hints of rusted metal long past its prime glinted all over. Sparks shot right out from where the right socket was, indicating a broken optic. Even with these noticeable flaws, the truck continued to carry on its way to wherever its destination might be.

In the back, a large trailer carried an assortment of metal parts. Some still had fabric cloth stuck onto them to indicate the type of bot it supposedly belonged to. There were multi-colored wires that tangled to some long, metal pipes. Springs of varying sizes tangled into a jumbled mess that clinged close to each other. How the gears above the pile shifted and moved with the bumpy road, with only a couple jumping off to be left behind by the truck.

Ahead of the road, there were massive, heaping piles of parts. Closer inspection had a sign on the left side that read, “Scrapyard”, all with chipped paint and faded letters. The truck was inched in with careful precision into the cluttered lot, careful not the run over anything. A flat tire or the vehicle tipping over would mean losing precious time on the deadlines sent by the foreman of the factory.

Finally, the truck was into the middle of the lot. The trailer began to tip over in a slow manner, dumping  the load of junk into a nearby pile. Each one had a certain range of the parts based on production. It was assumed that most of the cogs during that time would be built around the same time with the same quality production. The lever was pulled from the front, the back of the trailer soon began to tip over. The contents began to pour out with the metal parts being piled on top of the previous load from yesterday. Arms and bodies stacked on top of each other with the sounds of crushing metals hitting towards the ground.

 Soon, the empty trailer was pulled back. The driver of the truck pressed the center of the wheel to have a loud squeaking noise blurt to the entire yard. It followed by the sounds of scribbled down words with pen and clipboard in hand. How the countless parts from the millions of cogs were accumulated to be prepared for recycling.

 Sometimes beneath the metal pile, more than metal and glass begin to emerge to the surface. Upon closer inspection, a pair of broken jet black sunglasses was held by one arm with a tight grip, possibly that of its once a former owner. Right above the glasses, a calculator is crushed between a leg part and a torso of a bulky cog. Closer inspection cloth of the leg strained by a strain of perfume liquid. It ran down to a red, clawed hand holding a burnt bow tie of sorts. To whatever stories these possessions hold, it would be forgotten fast like a cog’s past promotion.

 The crane swerved from one side to the recently dropped pile. What loomed over was a giant electromagnet, powered through what engine the scrapyard had available. The powerful, magnetic waves carefully lifted the top part of the pile with parts and all. A mangled mound of parts to be taken onto the large, moving conveyor close to where the crane stood. Metallic sounds clashed in unison, brought down by the gravity of their collective mass like the disposable trash they were. The belt slowly moved them out far into dreary area where more gears and bolts laid. They were dull, and less vibrant in luster quality, with rust building up to indicate their older age.

 Further on, a faint clang noise can be heard on repeat. It stomps on repeat like a heavy crash to the ground. A small apparition appears, rectangular in shape. It grow larger each passing second, a dark shadow forming over the former live cogs. Had they been still alive, the horror that would appear on their faces. It’s hollow gears overhead turn with solids clicks with the pulverizing sound of heavy, dense steel clanging together in unison. A gigantic monster it was, to end their worthless fates through its chomping teeth. The scraps of metal broke piece by piece under the pressure, crushed one by one until the parts became into small enough chunks to be compressed through the chute on the other side.

 What scrapped pieces become in the end are imperfect cubes, perfect for the factory to reuse. These metal cubes would be ordered in mass whenever the factory was low on building materials. But for now, they just sit and wait in ordered form. It would be a shame for such valuable resources like these to be put to waste, not long after the materials acquired were from less than stellar commodities.

 So no matter how successful they were in their former lives, the praises they received from their bosses, what privileges they acquired through moving up the ladder, it was all truly void of purpose. Unable to continue serving their cause, these worthless bodies would instead be put to other more practical uses as nothing but pieces of scrap. A cheap, efficient option to say the least. One that will build greater, more advanced machines, performing better than past models of old.

 Sacrifices are to be made, and the Chairman was all more than willing to make them.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic I made many months after my last one. Wow it took forever for me to get back into the writing mood.
> 
> This short story idea came from that messed up scene in, "The Brave Little Toaster", where all the living cars were being crushed on screen to death. That sent shivers down my spine with how graphic it was.


End file.
